Running Red Momma

I attended the funeral for a friend's mother yesterday. I was so moved by the deep love her children had for her. The stories were tender and funny as they shared personal events. Although the mother was described as being gentle, she was also a firm teacher. She didn't yell, she had humor and kindness. As I listened, I was not , as is typical of myself, let down that I would never be that kind of mom. Instead, I thought, "I could stop yelling. I could be that moderate mom who teaches by example. Heck, my kids are young enough they probably won't even remember me yelling if I stop right now!" As the dream was building in my head, I didn't feel disheartened. I felt uplifted; excited for change. My daydream stopped as my seven-year-old tugged on my sleeve. "Mom, you could probably work on the yelling." So, honesty apparently runs in my family. But, it has been one whole day and I am going to at least work on making the spaces between y

Last night, we held our closing ceremonies by turning off our over-head projector which has been on for two straight weeks. I'm feeling a lack of celebration and awe right now. So, I will give some of my highlights/observations. CHEERS A cheer to Michael Phelps for doing the impossible and really winning all those races. It really lived to its pre-race hype. He was bullied and raised by a single mom. Yet, he became a legend in one week. A cheer to Natalie du Toit for swimming 6, yes 6!, miles in open water with only one leg. A cheer to Nastia Liukin for being graceful, elegant, and showing her composure during that funky tie event. A cheer to Shawn Johnson for her cheer and indomitable spirit. A cheer to third place finisher, David Neville, for diving for a bronze in the men's 400 and being thrilled about it. It reminded me all about attitude. A cheer to Dara Torres for being classy and waiting for a stalled competitor. TEARS A tear for the sobbing almost medalist in me

Between family reunions, Breaking Dawn , Parade of Homes and the Olympics, I am experiencing a hang-over of monstrous proportions. I might return to my thoughts on Breaking Dawn later. I just wanted to make a big shout-out to all of the amazing women who are over 30 in the Olympics. We have Dara Torres the 41-year-old swimming hero, a 33-year-old vaulter from Germany, a 38-year-old mom winning the marathon and finally a 35-year-old making the finals in the open 800. Not only did these women qualify for the Olympics, they finished with medals. Hurray! Ladies, a new era has dawned. Find your dream and do it. Time and age are being redefined. These women are real mothers who have made real amazing goals. This is way better than any botox beauty in people magazine. Life is meant to be lived the entire time and not just the first twenty years. Man, I am inspired. Can you tell I am getting older this year?

I just returned from a lovely family reunion. Yes, we really did have fun. I have a much bigger problem to discuss besides family reunions. My niece taught us the great camp song about a moose. Yeah, you know, he drank a lot of juice. However, the only part I can really sing is : "Way-oh, Way-oh, wayo wayo way-oh". It has become the new rhythm to my dish washing and laundry folding. I keep muttering it under my breath. Tragically, this turrets of the song lyric s is a classic trademark for me. I think my husband generally finds it charming. Well...except for the time I kept singing one line from the Rent musical, "and pussy galore." I was at his family's house and as usual I kept humming that same awful line. He finally pulled me aside to ask me "if I understood what I was singing ?" That actually got me quiet. The list would be endless of all the silly lyrics I sing to myself. Some of my more classic song problems: Sweet Escape. I